


Tales of Deep Dish Nine

by thesadchicken



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of independent little stories set in the Deep Dish Nine universe.<br/>Expect fluff, silliness and sunflowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ezri Box

She stopped the gray delivery car right under my apartment window. It was a rusty old thing, worn by time and use, but it was their pride and joy. They had named it the “ _Defiant_ ”. And she had stolen a few work hours to come here, to pick me up in the rusty old car and drive away somewhere, anywhere where we could be alone. Just Ezri and me.

My heart was thumping in my ribcage as I made my way downstairs. When I opened the door, the heat hit me –it was about five thirty, but the summer sun wouldn’t have mercy on us until after seven. Little Bajor looked beautiful in the lazy afternoon light; empty except for old Valenna, who always sat on the same plastic chair in front of his shop, and Vedek Yamani, who was doubtlessly heading to the temple for the evening prayers. I waved their way as I headed towards the car, but I never took the time to check if they’d seen me. She was looking up at me, blue eyes and wide smile, and I was already far gone.

“Hey there,” I said, a bit sheepishly, sliding my hand through my hair.

“Hey,” she replied, and her grin somehow grew wider. She leaned over the passenger’s seat and opened the door for me –although it was clearly unnecessary, just a gallant gesture reserved for me, only for me, and I cherished it and filed it away in a corner of my memory –in my Ezri box.

“Sure you won’t get in trouble for this?” I asked as I ducked into the car.

“Relax, Jadzia’s covering for me,” she started cheerfully, then winced; “I think.”

“You think?” I laughed, no longer concerned but quite amused by the utter Ezriness of the situation.

“Yeah, I mean, I told her I was taking the _Defiant_ for a spin and I told her it might take a bit more time than usual and I asked if she would cover for me and she said yes, except she was in the kitchen with Worf and that god-awful Klingon opera was on so I’m not sure she heard me –but that doesn’t really matter actually, because I’m not expected at work until eight.”

I shook my head at her, and she shrugged her shoulders, smiling, ever-smiling, such a beautiful smile-

“So, where do you want to go?” she asked, starting the car.

“Um, I dunno, maybe grab some drinks and go to the park?”

“You got it.”

She stepped on the gas –a bit too enthusiastically to be safe- and the car jerked to life under her yellow flip-flops. I noticed that she had taken the time to change from her work uniform into something a bit more appropriate, and that was something else to put in my Ezri box. She had deemed our little outing worthy of her bright blue crop-top and denim shorts –not to mention a few work hours and the potential trouble if she got caught. Her toe-nails were painted electric blue and her skin was so white, not tanned, which meant she hadn’t had much of a vacation yet and I knew how much she loved the sea and maybe she’d like to go to my grandparents’ old coastal cottage? I pushed away my scattered thoughts for later and reached out to turn on the radio.

“Oh, that won’t work,” Ezri told me with an apologetic frown.

“No problem,” I answered, pulling a pair of old sunglasses from an empty coffee cup and putting them on; “you’ll just have to listen to me.”

I started with a traditional Bajoran ballad and finished roaring to a Plixx Tixxaplik song. Ezri sang along, although she forgot half the words and mumbled the melodies, until we started making up new silly lyrics to every song that crossed our minds. When the songs ran out, we stopped singing and sat there giggling. It was the kind of nonchalant companionship I had discovered with her: she never expected anything of me except being myself. I was a Bajoran girl studying psychology, which wasn’t all that uncommon, but my parents were extremely proud of me and had high hopes of a glorious future where their only child wouldn’t have to struggle to survive, the way they did. Throughout my life, the weight of that responsibility had been a burden, and I’d turned into a shy, introverted person –much to the disdain of those who preached about how ‘strong Bajoran women are!’- Ezri had taught me that strength wasn’t about being outgoing and rough; it was about being who you are.

I shook away those thoughts. _Ugh, cheesy_. Crossing my arms behind my head, I looked over to Ezri. She was lowering her window. “Phew, Great Sef, I hate the heat!” she complained; “good thing we’re almost there.”

She stopped in front of a grocery store –the only one that sold Terran beer- and we jumped out of the car and ran into the fresh bliss of air conditioning. Ezri headed straight towards the drinks and grabbed two green cans. I lingered behind, welcoming the coolness of the store.

“You done?” she asked sarcastically; “we can just ditch the park and sit here if you’re planning on staying.”

“I was looking for chips. And I was totally not trying-to-slow-down-the-process-of-getting-out-of-this-air-conditioned-paradise,” I replied, smiling innocently.

“Good. Because we don’t have all evening.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll just get the chips-”

I walked towards the appropriate section, Ezri following behind. I scanned the very high shelving for my favorite brand and found it on the very top. _Of course it had to be there, everyone wants to live on the top of the mountain_. I stood on my tip-toes and reached out as far I could – ha! to no avail.

“May I help you, miss?”

I turned around, rather startled by the unknown voice that had addressed me. The owner of the voice had shoulder-length black hair, impossibly pale skin, icy blue eyes… was middle-aged, well-dressed and obviously Cardassian.

“Thank you,” I answered coldly; “but I’m fine.” I didn’t feel like being bullied by a Cardassian man.

“Mister Garak?” Ezri appeared from behind me and –Prophets!– smiled at the bully.

“Miss Dax,” he said, bowing slightly in that oh-so-Cardassian way and flashing an enigmatic, not-to-be-trusted smile; “what a pleasant surprise.”

“We don’t see you anymore at Deep Dish Nine,” Ezri added, and I couldn’t guess if she was just being polite or if she was genuinely curious.

“Yes, I’ve been trying to lose some weight,” he said, gesturing to his stomach, and I began to reconsider my initial impression of him. Maybe not a bully. Definitely not scary.

“Well, when you feel like indulging, we’re always open,” Ezri joked, advertising no matter what the time and place. I tried not to laugh.

“Thank you, I’ll consider it,” Mister Garak smiled back, then with a theatrical bow, he left.

We watched him leave, and when he was far enough Ezri leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Losing weight! Yeah right. More like our waiter took the week off to study. Those two are so obvious.”

It’s not that I wasn’t listening; but the reasons for Mister Garak’s absence were of no interest at all to me compared to the feeling of Ezri’s warm breath against my ear, the way she smelled (sweet peaches and sunscreen) or the way her hand slipped into mine for a few seconds. I remained composed of course, the very picture of self-possession, except for my suddenly very dry throat.

“Okay, so what were you trying to reach?” she asked me, walking away, letting go, _she had been so close_ -

“Um, that bag of chips up there, the blue ‘ _Andorios_ ’,” I stuttered, “But you won’t reach it, you’re not any taller than I am, Ez.”

She ignored my comment and reached out to the top shelf. Her crop top slid over her skin, all the way up to her chest, and got caught beneath her breasts, revealing a patch of freckled skin on her stomach and delicate dimples on her back. Her muscles quivered and the fabric of her crop top clung to her curves, brushing over her body softly, a caress, a gentle touch… And suddenly she jumped, just a little hop in the air, and when her feet touched the ground again she was holding a bag of chips in her hands. I stared in awe.

“My sister Emony is a gymnast,” Ezri explained; “when we were little, she used to make us practice all sorts of moves. I’m no athlete, but I guess I haven’t forgotten everything she taught me.”

~

She wriggled her electric blue toes out of her yellow flip-flops and threw her tiny hand through her hair. Her head was resting against the dry grass and her eyelids fluttered closed and I wished I could slide my fingers along the trail of spotted tattoos on her cheek and neck. The park was alive with the sound of children playing, dogs barking, and couples strolling along the water fountain. She brought her can to her lips and lazily poured the fresh beverage into her mouth. 

“Perfect,” she whispered to the sky.

 _Perfect_ , my thoughts echoed. Something to add to my Ezri box. I watched her sigh happily, reach out blindly to the bag of chips we had dropped between us and grab a handful of greasy potatoes. I watched her stuff them into her mouth and lick her fingertips. I watched her turn towards me and open her eyes, and stare at me, smiling, and my heart thumped madly in my ribcage, and I was so far gone…


	2. Sunflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Weepies' "Sunflower", one of my favorite songs.

_When the sky is grey, hope just hides away_

_I’ll be your sunflower_

_I shine for you; you know I’ll do anything for you_

~

Jake Sisko was leaning against the wall just outside Deep Dish Nine, biding his time. It was a Sunday morning and there was absolutely nothing to do. His friends all had plans of their own; Nog was busy studying, Lal was out of town, Alexander wasn’t allowed to go out until he got better grades, and Ziyal wouldn’t answer the phone. That, combined with a good amount of writer’s block, made for the Most Boring Day Ever. So he stood in front of his dad’s pizza place, waiting for something interesting to happen, and incidentally getting in the way of the first warm rays of sunshine since last summer. This wasn’t that bad, come to think of it –he could be in Nog’s place, or worse, Alexander’s. He yawned and smiled to himself. He could even grab a slice of pizza and maybe take a walk all the way to Pike memorial park? _Yeah, not a bad idea_ -

Something swooshed pass him quickly. He looked up and stared after it. The ‘something’ in question was a dark haired young lady riding a purple bike –Ziyal! Pedaling way too fast, and headed towards the old abandoned house. This couldn’t be good.

~

She was boiling with rage. This didn’t happen often, and she hated being angry and she knew she had probably overreacted but Prophets! This was beyond what she could bear. She dumped her bike in the bushes and stormed into the unkempt garden surrounding the deserted house. Dry grass and twigs clawed at her legs. She sprinted through the vegetation until she was out of breath, then she let herself fall on her bottom, her back to the road. Was it safe to cry yet? Oh, whatever, the tears were already sliding down her chin, getting lost in her Guns and Roses t-shirt. She dug her fingers into the dirt and clenched her fists. Sometimes it really felt like he didn’t give a damn. Like everything else mattered except her. What if instead of going to school tomorrow morning, she packed her stuff and got lost? Would he even notice? Would he even care? _Ziyal’s gone, what a shame, but hey what’s for dinner?_ Prophets, what was she thinking… he was her father. He was taking care of her. And sometimes he couldn’t but he was a busy man, right? Or maybe it was her fault. Maybe she was doing something wrong, maybe she was bothering him, and _how do you be a good daughter?_

She sighed heavily. The sun was out –finally. And here she was, sitting in the dirt crying like a baby, instead of making good use of this wonderful Sunday morning. She was being stupid, and _no wonder no one cares, you’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself_ …

A sunflower appeared. A genuine sunflower; delicate yellow petals and a large green stem, held by a long fingered hand. Ziyal started and turned around to find Jake Sisko smiling at her.

“Hi,” he said softly, handing her the flower.

“Hi,” she echoed, drying her tears with the back of her hand.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jake plucked a stray string of fabric from his shirt. “I finished writing a song last week,” he announced, out of the blue.

Ziyal tried to smile. “Oh yeah? That’s cool. I didn’t know you were an aspiring songwriter.”

“No way,” Jake laughed; “this is probably my first and last attempt because it’s as lame as lame can get. Lal composed something and asked me to write the lyrics to her melody, so yeah, at least I tried.”

Silence, again. This time Ziyal was the one to interrupt it. “So? Are we gonna hear it?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“Oh come on!”

“Okay, okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He stood up, cleared his throat and closed his eyes; “You’re pale and beautiful and everything I love / but even though you know you’re all of the above / you still seem to think you’re not good enough / well let me tell you / you are, you are, you are my day and night / you are wrong and right / you can fly to great heights / you are you and I love you.”

He opened his eyes and winced. “I’m gonna stop here, before it gets cheesier.”

Ziyal clapped mockingly. “You’re right, that was pretty lame.”

Jake took a theatrical bow. “Thank you, thank you.”

“But it was actually surprisingly good, for a lame song.”

“You really think so?” Jake beamed at her.

“Yeah.” They smiled at each other, and the sun was warm on their skin, and the clouds were a distant memory, and a nice breeze shook the vegetation around them.

“Wanna teach me how to use that thing?” he asked, gesturing towards the bushes where she had unsuccessfully hidden her bike.

“You mean you don’t know how to ride a bike?” she raised her eyebrows disbelievingly.

Jake shrugged. Ziyal laughed. “Okay.”

~

They were walking home. Ziyal was dragging the bike while a slightly bruised and dirty Jake followed behind. The sun had shied away in the early afternoon and was hiding behind some thick rain clouds.

“How’d you know about the sunflower?” Ziyal asked.

“Hmm?” Jake frowned, scratching his forearm where some dirt had gathered.

“That it’s my favorite flower,” she explained, looking over to her long limbed friend.

“I -just noticed,” Jake shrugged, fumbling for words, and his eyes were avoiding hers.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Ziyal pushed the bike to the left to avoid hitting a boulder on the sidewalk. _Crazy old Morn, still collecting stones_ , she laughed to herself. Her eyes fell on the sunflower sticking out of her sweatpants pocket _. Just noticed? How do you ‘just notice’ what someone’s favorite flower is?_ And then she remembered. The doodles on her notebook. The sketches she left on fallen leaves in the school garden. Her profile picture on Boldly‘Chat. Her character’s name in the ‘Gul Gabara: Battle for Cardassia’ online game. There were plenty of clues scattered across her everyday life, but one had to be pretty attentive –not to mention dedicated– to detect the pattern and come up with a conclusion. But it was nothing like a detective’s work: Jake hadn’t planned any of this, he just happened to notice small things like sunflowers… _Because he cares_ , Ziyal smiled. _He really cares_.

“I think it’s gonna rain,” Jake said, looking up at the darkening sky.

“How about pizza and a movie at my place?”

“Sounds great.”


	3. Goodnight and Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Imogen Heap's "Goodnight and Go". A lovely tune.

_Skipping beats, blushing cheeks, I am struggling_

_Daydreaming, bed scenes in the corner café_

_And then I'm left in bits recovering tectonic tremblings_

_You get me every time_

~

Their drinks lay discarded on the coffee shop table. Someone pushed the door open and entered, causing their straws to dance in their cups as a gust of wind struck them–

“Every time you tap the screen, the bird’s going to doing a little hop,” Julian explained, leaning over the table and pointing towards the phone in Garak’s hands.

“I see,” the older man replied, and he tapped the screen once, and the little bird jolted and then crashed onto the pixelated ground, _oh dear_ …

“No, you don’t,” Julian shook his head, reprimanding; “Don’t let go so fast; here, look.”

He tapped the screen several times, and Garak stared, and what do you know, the bird actually flew! But oh, here came the obstacles, what were those meant to represent? And Julian dodged them, hopped around them and through them; clever fingers working nimble and fast, mm, how lovely those slender fingers looked, how perfect they would be sliding over his pale body –no, wait, what was he thinking?

“Alright?” Julian asked, restarting the game for him and letting go of the phone, deft fingers disappearing under the table and into the young man’s lap.

Garak brushed his previous thoughts away and directed his focus onto the game. How had they brought this up? Oh, yes, they were discussing Garak’s seemingly natural talent for video games, despite his being not entirely fond of them –or at least his claiming so– and Garak was being awfully smug about it, and Julian had hinted to a game that might be an exception. This one you can’t beat, he had said, and Garak had snorted, ha! let me try this game of yours, so I can prove you wrong. And Julian had obliged immediately, popping his phone out of the pocket of his black jeans, sliding it open and activating the game. He had then handed it over to Garak with a challenging smile, and Garak had demanded to be taught how to play. Now here he was, getting distracted when his reputation as an unexpectedly talented gamer was at stake. He tutted to himself.

“What?” Julian was barely hiding his smile; “is it a bit too complicated for you? Shall I elaborate?”

Teasing, teasing, always teasing. _It won’t work this time though; I won’t rise to the bait just yet…_ First things first. He had to beat Julian’s high score and call it beginner’s luck and watch his eyebrows raise in surprise and those lovely hazel eyes widen in disbelief. Oh, how he loved to see Julian in awe!

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he replied, and hop! He tapped the screen and started the game.

Tap, tap, tap, this wasn’t difficult at all, he just had to pace his taps, pick up a steady rhythm, yes, good, and Julian was watching closely, leaning in, and Garak could feel the warmth radiating from his body–

“This is where it gets tricky,” Julian exclaimed gleefully, and surely enough, a barrier appeared on the screen, blocking his way.

Hmm. He would have to drop a little to avoid hitting it. He held his finger up for a few seconds, letting it hover over the screen, and picking his bird up just in time to dodge the first obstacle; yes! He inwardly gloated over his victory; did you see that Julian, did you see that? But there was another threatening barrier that he’d overlooked in the midst of his self-congratulating frenzy. The little bird hit the obstacle and fell to the ground. The phone chirped its disapproval. Garak frowned at the screen, but it was obvious that he had simply lost his focus; ridiculous, showing-off his gaming skills like a fifteen year-old, absolutely ridiculous. He felt himself sulk and sink into his seat; no, that wouldn’t do. Regain at least a shred of dignity, Elim, before you humiliate yourself further. He placed the phone on the table and looked up with a huff of disdain.

“Ridiculous,” he declared, because it was the only word coming to mind, and Julian didn’t have to know he meant it about himself.

“You’re just bitter because you couldn’t beat the game,” came the mocking reply, along with a conceited grin.

“Am I, now?” Garak played along, and it was better than sulking, wasn’t it?

“Mm-hm,” Julian nodded; “bitter and defeated and left with nothing more to say than ‘sorry, Julian, I was wrong; I am not The Greatest Gamer This World Has Ever Known’. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”

“Come now, don’t you think that’s a trifle exaggerated?”

“Barely.”

“Well then, I will have to prove you wrong one way or the other,” Garak shrugged, and then he picked up the phone and tapped it to life.

“Perseverance yields success and all that?” another teasing puff of laughter, _my goodness, the man is infuriating–_

“Perhaps, yes,” he answered dismissively, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

The game had re-started and his little bird could apparently take another round of clumsy hopping –one could hardly call it flying, really. And here came the first obstacle, alright, he’d done it before, but it was different from the previous ones, and argh, how did it work? He fumbled awkwardly with the phone, felt his tongue sticking out of his mouth, hastily pulled it back inside lest he’d face another humiliation, and there went his focus…

“It’s alright, Garak,” Julian’s voice was a bit kinder, but the remains of smug arrogance lingered there; “you’re not the first person to be beaten by this game.”

Garak ignored him. He wasn’t giving up yet. Once again the tiny bird went bouncing into a pixelated sky, and it made it through the first obstacle before bumping into a large, odd looking barrier and falling pathetically to the ground. Garak did not pause; he tapped the screen again with a frustrated huff and started a new game.

“Um, Garak?” Julian sounded mildly concerned now, all traces of mockery gone from his voice; “maybe that’s enough for now?”

 _Not yet,_ he was sure he could score a few more points, if he just tilted the phone to the side so it rested better in his hands, and now his arms were fully propped onto the table and he probably looked alarmingly inelegant, with his nose mere centimeters away from the screen…

And then Julian’s hand landed on his thigh, and an electric surge flowed through Garak’s body and his stomach twisted in the most delicious of ways and suddenly the phone, the game, the little bird and all that went with them were entirely unimportant. A tweeting noise indicated defeat, again. _Hardly fair_ , but goodness, the hand was still there, just above his knee, squeezing lightly, _mercies!_ Garak looked up and into the younger man’s face, slightly distressed. It was all happening too fast, and he was not expecting that, not now, not in public. Oh dear, and his thoughts had seemed to be wandering off on their own in most unsolicited directions this evening; had Julian noticed? Was this more teasing? Had he been so utterly obvious? How distasteful, and he would never forgive himself if Julian were to think less of him because of this…

“Garak,” Julian asked, and he was most definitely worried, although lines of amusement were written across his expression; “I think I lost you there for a second.”

His hand slipped –slowly, subtly– just a little higher on Garak’s thigh and pressed gently. Was he even aware of it? He looked oblivious to the fireworks that he had launched and that were now twirling beneath his palm.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Garak answered, his voice perfectly calm, _I may act like a fifteen year-old, but I am not one_ ; “I might’ve gotten a bit carried away.”

Julian nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. The hand was removed swiftly, and Garak almost sighed out loud. It was a relief and a disappointment at the same time, to be rid of that unnervingly sweet pressure. Such an uncommon blend of emotions; it made him feel young and confused again. How absurd! How could this be happening to him? He felt like surrendering. He felt like writing bad poetry, he felt like letting this delightful young man know that he lit a spark in a wary middle-aged man’s cold heart. _Stop it, Elim_.

Julian was still leaning in, dangerously close, but they were facing each other now and that changed everything. Breaths were now mingling, arms brushing; bodies close but too far apart. Julian’s eyelids drooped delicately and long eyelashes fluttered in the dim light of the coffee shop. Garak’s gaze flickered downward, towards beautiful lips, oh, and they were parted, exhaling a soft sigh. Then Julian opened his eyes and took one bold, swooping look at the older man. Pale cheeks were turning distressingly pink, pale fingers were clutching the abandoned phone, and hazel eyes were laughing at Garak. Laughing at him! Damn the man, he was absolutely incorrigible. Flirting with words was one thing; flirting with hands and eyes and sighs, that was a new terrain that Julian was apparently willing to explore –and Garak was falling into every single trap laid for him. _Hmm, well Elim, he has finally beaten you at your own game, hasn’t he?_

So ‘Flappy Bird’ wasn’t the only game Garak would be losing tonight; but when it came to this, he found he really didn’t mind.

****

_Follow you home, you've got your headphones on and you're dancing_

_Got lucky, beautiful shot, you taking everything off; watch the curtains wide open_

_Then you fall in the same routine flicking through the TV, relaxed and reclining_

_And you think you're alone..._

~

A cold wind brushed across his face, clung to his hair, made its icy way through the multiple layers of clothing he was wearing, and he shivered, shoving his fists into the pockets of his coat. The night was fluorescent, painted orange and blue by the street lights and flickering signs, and people were flowing around him in a sea of indistinguishable faces. His surroundings were a blur, the ground he walked on was a haze, and the winter air was nothing but a timely distraction. He had almost forgotten to cover himself up properly, and then he would have been sick for at least a week, and that would have been a shame, now that Julian had more free-time. So he actively buttoned up his coat and threw his scarf over his shoulder. The city’s unforgiving weather was somehow a faraway memory, now that it had been dealt with. And all that mattered was the delightful young man he was sharing his evening with…

Julian was dancing. In the middle of the well-lit street, in the middle of the cacophony of cars and people and all the nighttime noises, he was twirling and swirling and being as young and carefree as he should be. At first, it had looked absurd and rather silly to Garak’s unsuspecting eyes; they had been walking home, hand in hand, and they had been sharing headphones, humming in unison to the soft melody that had been swimming around in their heads and ears. And when the song had reached its end, Garak had sighed a happy sigh, and Julian had grinned a toothy grin, and they had exchanged fond looks, and for a moment it had felt as if they were alone in the crowded streets. Then a few chords had announced the beginning of another song, and Julian’s smile had widened and his eyes had gone shining. Garak’s hand had been abandoned to fall limply at his side, and Julian had soared into the night. No more music in Garak’s ear, no more smile on Garak’s face, and no more warmth at Garak’s side.

“God, I love this song!” the younger man had shouted, rather to himself than to the rest of the world –or was it the other way around?

How absolutely, mindlessly rash! And yet how deliciously unexpected, _oh Julian, you are one of a kind, aren’t you?_ And now Garak was watching, wide eyed, his eyebrows raised, his mouth hanging open in a half-grin, the corners of his lips turned upward. Julian was mouthing the lyrics to his song –mutely, thank goodness!–  and he was skipping his way home, paying attention to none but himself. It was beautiful to watch; like looking at a wave sway through the ocean, unaware that it would ultimately crash against the shore. _I am here, Julian, I won’t let you crash_.

He turned towards Garak, wild and free and happy, and his smile became somewhat mischievous. Then he reached out, grabbed Garak’s arms and pulled his freezing hands out of his pockets. _Oh no_ , blue eyes declined, dark head shaking. _Oh yes!_ hazel eyes laughed, and Julian was tugging, pulling him into the night, _come on, let’s be alone again, just you and me in the crowded street_. Garak waited a few more seconds before yielding; the outcome of their silent argument had been evident from the very start. It had only been a question of when he would surrender, not if he would surrender. So he let himself be carried into Julian’s world once again, where everything was exciting and electrifying and the rest was unimportant. He didn’t dance, he didn’t twirl around in circles or skip across the sidewalk, but he followed Julian’s frenzied pace, smiling, blushing, watching. And soon they were home, and they were still holding hands, and they made their way upstairs in delightful silence. The lift wasn’t working –never mind, the stairs would do. They tripped over their own feet, giggled like children, tumbled in the dark and clutched each other to avoid falling over. When they got to the apartment, Julian pushed the door open, slammed the lights on, and invited Garak inside with a rather gallant gesture and a charming half-smile. Garak slipped out of his coat, and they were falling back into their little routine. Thursday night, movie night.

Garak walked over to the shelf, picked three different DVDs and laid them on the couch for Julian to choose. Hmm, maybe he should run downstairs and get a few drinks? There would be nothing here but beer and Scotch, and Garak felt like something a bit more refined; kanar sounded fantastic.

“Julian?” he called out, turning towards the young man and–

Julian was peeling his clothes off, right there in the living-room, scattering his coat, his sweatshirt, and his two layers of t-shirts on the floor like fallen leaves on an autumn day. Garak watched as he kicked his ragged Converse off and knelt down to pick up the pile of clothing on the floor; smooth brown skin uncovered, stretching over bony shoulders, and his jeans slipped downwards as he bent and revealed another sensitive patch of skin, _mercies_ …

“Yes?” a half-naked Julian answered, holding his clothes loosely against his chest, heedless and unashamed.

Garak stared in mild disbelief, flustered and taken-aback. “I’m going to get some wine from downstairs–”

Julian followed Garak’s stupefied gaze and suddenly stiffened, but did nothing to cover himself up. “Oh, yes of course, good idea,” he stammered; “Um, I’m going to take a quick shower, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” the older man replied, and _the sooner I get out of here the better, oh my dear, must you be so lovely, so charmingly brazen?_

It was all he could think of as he walked downstairs, as he opened the door, as he searched through his little cupboard and extracted a bottle of kanar and as he made his way back to Julian’s apartment. He took his time, lingering in the afterglow of the fluttering feeling in his stomach. The feeling that had so completely overwhelmed him, mind and body, and he knew he shouldn’t permit it but how could one resist such sweet agony? Breathless, he leaned against the wall in the stairway. His mind was filled with visions of Julian, and his body was reacting in most pleasant ways. He was blushing again, and grinning to himself, and he felt so young and foolish and wonderful. Julian’s eyes, the way they coveted him, the way they would turn soft when they looked at him, the way they would smile or laugh at him, and all the ways they talked to him… it made him feel dizzy. It made him ache for more. So he pushed himself off the wall, the bottle of kanar clinking against it, and strode through the set of stairs separating him from Julian. He was letting himself fall into a never-ending abyss, he knew it, he knew it so well, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. He pushed the door to Julian’s apartment open, and he felt like singing, like dancing, like being young and brazen.

“Oh, there you are. I thought I had scared you off,” Julian smirked. He had changed into more comfortable clothes and was sprawled on the couch, long limbs thrown across it in nonchalant relaxation.

This was the way Julian acted when they were in private. _In private_ , the words resonated within Garak with all their implications. The young man was wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his sleepy eyes were half-closed. Being alone with Garak had become Julian’s privacy. _He trusts me; he’s comfortable around me…_

“What a ludicrous thought,” he answered, sitting down and placing the bottle on the table; “my dear, you couldn’t scare me off even if you tried.”

Julian positively beamed. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 _He trusts me_ , such a terrifying thought. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. _If only he knew_ … but no, tonight wasn’t for that, tonight Julian was relaxed and happy and staring at him through long eyelashes, and Garak felt like he could melt onto the couch –despite the icy wind that clawed at the windows from outside. It was impossible to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

****

_One of these days, you'll miss your train and come stay with me_

_We'll have drinks and talk about things, any excuse to stay awake with you_

_You'll sleep here, I’ll sleep there, but then the heating may be down again at my convenience_

_We'd be good, we'd be great together_

_~_

“Goodnight, Garak.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

He pulled the sheets up to his chin and stared at the ceiling. Julian was in _his_ living-room, curled up on _his_ couch, and tomorrow the pillow he gave him would smell of him. The apartment was warm; too warm for Julian, but he had insisted that Garak kept everything the way it was.

“Don’t change the heating on my account,” he had shrugged; “I’ll be fine.” And so he had stripped down to his old jeans; Garak had offered him a pair of comfortable pajama pants, but Julian had politely declined. “Really, I’m alright, and I don’t want to bother you further.”

  _My goodness, Julian is here_ , Garak felt like giggling. It was past midnight, he was warm and cozy in bed, and if he listened closely he could hear the young man’s calm breathing and the slight rustling of sheets when he moved. The night had been very near perfect.

It had all started with a knock on his door, late that afternoon. He had been working on a wedding order, and it was only due a couple of weeks later, but he had nothing better to do. The door had been a welcomed distraction, although somewhat unusual. He had savored the thrill of curiosity he had felt before opening the door. And when he finally had, he had equally savored the warmth creeping through his body at the sight of Julian standing at his door, his shoulder bag hanging at his side, his hand in his hair, tugging at a stray curl. He had looked rather miserable, however, so Garak had ushered him in, sat him down, offered him a glass of wine –which he had willingly accepted– and then Julian had explained. He had lost the keys to his apartment on his way back from university, had looked everywhere for them and then had been compelled to call a friend who lived on campus, asking them if he could spend the night there. But his misfortunes had been far from over; in the general chaos of the situation, he had missed the last bus to campus.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you, and I’m really sorry and oh God you’re probably busy but–”

“Your arrival has enriched my evening, my dear,” Garak had teased, bowing slightly, and he hadn’t been exactly lying, hadn’t been exaggerating either, but he had preferred keeping his tone light, _let the evening be a pleasantly simple one_.

Julian had smiled uncertainly, Garak had smiled back, and they had drank and talked and joked and teased and Julian’s hand had touched Garak’s, and Garak’s heart had skipped beats, and their eyes had locked over the table, and it had very nearly felt like kissing. They had stayed up late, too late, and Julian had class tomorrow but–

“What the hell,” Julian had said; “and besides, um, there’s something I really need to talk to you about.”

 _Lovely, you are lovely_ , Garak had thought, over and over again all night long. And then it had been time to go to bed, and how they had wanted to prolong the moment, make the night last forever…

At the end, their last words had been ‘goodnight’. Still ‘goodnight’, always ‘goodnight’, but Garak felt like perhaps –just perhaps– one day there would be something more.

~

_Why do you have to be so cute? It's impossible to ignore you_

_Must you make me laugh so much? It's bad enough we get along so well_

_Say goodnight and go_


	4. Troublemaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This particular story was inspired by my school's three-legged cat.

When Benjamin Sisko walked into Deep Dish Nine there was a dabo game going on in the kitchen. Or at least it sounded like one.

“Have you completely lost your minds?” he roared at his employees once the kitchen doors securely closed behind him.

There had apparently been a confrontation between Worf and Kira, who were facing each other over the worktop, jaws and fists clenched. Jadzia was standing behind Kira, her hands on her hips, and Ezri was leaning against the wall, looking miserable. Julian was nowhere to be seen.

“There are customers out there,” Sisko added a bit less loudly, trying to whisper through his rage; “and I don’t want anyone to hear you squabbling like teenagers.”

The yelling stopped short, but the venomous glances kept going back and forth between the employees.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sisko asked, ever so slowly regaining his calm.

Kira and Worf started speaking at the same time, causing a cacophony of words that only further annoyed their boss. “Okay, shut up, both of you. Dax, what happened?”

“Well,” Jadzia started, looking at Kira uncertainly; “The pepperoni’s gone missing.”

“What?” Benjamin frowned.

“Kira blames Worf and Worf blames Ezri and Ezri says it’s Julian’s job to make sure the ingredients are in place and Julian is a very busy waiter so he can’t defend himself,” Jadzia blurted out; “But to get to the point; we have no pepperoni left.”

Sisko blinked at them, slid his hand over his face and pushed a longsuffering sigh. “Alright. Ezri, you go help Bashir with the orders. Worf, back to cooking. Jadzia, you’re at the counter.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Jadzia nodded mockingly as she left the kitchen.

“Kira, you may not be the chef in the kitchen, but you’re in charge of keeping this place running when I’m not here,” he addressed the Bajoran severely; “I don’t care what it takes, I want this problem solved before I get back this evening. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Kira fumed.

“Good,” Sisko approved, and then he left the place like a man who had ten thousands things to take care of and couldn’t burden himself with the extra pain of dealing with his employees’ quarrels.

~

Kira slammed a plastic box on Worf’s worktop. “Here’s the meat you need for your pizzas.”

The tall man sneered at the meat in question. “It’s frozen,” he complained.

“Yeah, I’d noticed,” Kira replied, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

“I do not work with pre-cooked food,” Worf said indignantly.

“Well that’s all we have, so you better get on with it, mister,” she warned. Worf scowled at her and reluctantly did as he was told.

Ten minutes later, Kira was on the phone with Miles O’Brien, asking him if he had time to check on their infamously dysfunctional stove, when Worf burst out of the kitchen and planted himself in front of her.

“Just a minute, chief,” Kira requested, then she hung up and turned to Worf; “What now?”

 “It disappeared again.”

~

“Jadzia Dax, I swear to the Prophets, if this is a joke-”

“I’m innocent, what do I have to do to convince you guys?” Jadzia shook her head at them, raising her hands in front of her.

“The pepperoni can’t just keep disappearing like that,” Ezri threw her hands up in the air; “You must’ve lost it, Worf.”

“I do not misplace my ingredients!” the Klingon barked heatedly.

“Then someone’s obviously playing some kind of practical joke on us,” Kira said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Don’t look at me,” Julian shrugged.

There was a moment of uncertain silence where everyone stared at each other confusedly, then Kira sighed. “I’ll take care of this. Back to work everybody; except for you Worf. You’re on break until I get you something to put on your pizzas.”

~

She snuck into the kitchen by the back door, making sure to close it as slowly and as quietly as possible. She stripped three sausages out of their plastic bag and laid them on the worktop before she hid under the table in the far end of the room, where she bumped her head and cursed under her breath. Then she waited. And waited. Just when she was starting to feel a bit too ridiculous, hiding under a table like a four-year old, she heard the rustle of a paper bag. She immediately sprung to her feet and caught the prankster red-handed.

The prankster happened to have whiskers, a tail, and messy grey fur. Kira stared at it and it stared back, and they stayed there in silent astonishment for a few seconds, then the cat bit into a sausage and bolted out of the open window.

“Hey! Come back here!”

Kira pushed the door open and ran after the thief; which, surprisingly, didn’t make it very far before she caught it. Folding one hand over its belly, she managed to snatch the sausage out of its mouth. The cat made no sound, but it scrambled out of Kira’s grasp and instead of running away like she expected it to do, it just stayed at her feet and licked its whiskers.  

“What more do you want? You already drove the whole place crazy, you little pest,” Kira told it, trying to regain her breath.

The cat kept staring at her stubbornly. It was too thin, like a twig standing on wiry legs, and looking closer, Kira noticed that the bottom of its back left leg was missing. And yet it didn’t shake, it stood on its three good legs and still stared at her, as if daring her to move. It wasn’t afraid –or perhaps it was, but it couldn’t let her notice, could it? The more she looked, the more it reminded her of someone… _You look like me, just a few years ago_. She looked at the partly chewed sausage in her hand. _I would’ve done the same. Hell, I would’ve done worse for food like this_. She tossed it at the cat, which jumped on it as soon as it hit the ground.

“Nobody was going to eat it anyway; you already chewed off half of it.”

She knelt down beside the cat, but it was too busy swallowing its meal to pay attention to her. She petted it gently on the head and heard it purr in response. “You can come back anytime you like, okay?” she informed it, not quite certain why she was talking to a cat; “I’ll make sure to keep some leftovers for you. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to call you Troublemaker. Because that’s what you are, don’t think I’ve already forgotten.”


	5. Caught in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my own little adventure in the rain.

“I knew this was going to be a bad idea,” Ezri whined, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees, “but did I say anything? No! I just let it happen and now look what –”

“Ezri,” Jadzia glared at her sister in the rearview mirror, “stop talking.”

“She’s right though,” Julian mumbled, nibbling at his fingernails anxiously, “this was an awful idea.”

Jadzia gritted her teeth and grasped the steering wheel firmly. “If nothing remotely intelligent is going to come out of your mouth, Julian, then keep it shut.”

They sat in silence, listening to the _Defiant_ ’s rusty engines rumbling and the rain pattering on the windows. The road was dark and cold and not in the least familiar, and Ezri started twitching again, squirming on the backseat of the old car. Julian was looking out the window, trying to identify street signs and buildings. Jadzia was staring straight ahead at the rain-soaked road.

Earlier that afternoon, they had taken the _Defiant_ for a spin with the intention of driving out of town to meet a friend of Jadzia’s, whom she had solemnly promised was fun and exciting and also Klingon and about seventy years old. Out of pure curiosity (or was it boredom?) Julian and Ezri had accepted. It was against the rules of course, and they could get into serious trouble if Mr. Sisko – or worse; Kira! – found out, but Jadzia had reassured them that they’d be back in time and that nobody would notice anything. She had been unanimously elected as driver, Julian had called shotgun, Ezri had groaned that it wasn’t fair, and they had left, giggling like children at their mischief. They regretted it now. Bitterly.

Jadzia’s friend had been away, and they had agreed on trying to find a shortcut to compensate for the time lost on the unfruitful voyage. The shortcut had been a bust, they ended up terribly overdue, night had fallen, and then it had started raining. They were lost.

The car suddenly jerked. All three rascals straightened up in their seats, but nothing happened. Jadzia nudged Julian. “Check your phone.”

Julian pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed heavily. “Still no signal.”

“Where the hell are we?” Jadzia muttered to herself, and Ezri purposely bumped her head against the window.

A minute of two later, the car jerked again and the engines’ hum quieted. Jadzia swallowed hard.

“Don’t tell me we’re out of gas,” Julian exclaimed, shooting the driver a panicked look.

The _Defiant_ whined pathetically and slowed down, coming to a near-halt. Jadzia forced it to the side of the road before it definitely stopped, plunging them in total stillness. The storm raged on outside, and the night seemed to get darker.

“This is my fault,” Ezri sighed, “I knew this would happen; I could _feel_ it. Remember how my eye was twitching this morning? Remember, Julian?”

Julian ignored her and instead fumbled for his phone. “I could call someone to come pick us up?” he suggested.

Jadzia winced. “Except there is absolutely no signal here, in case you forgot.”

“So we’re stuck?” Julian asked nervously.

“We’re stuck,” Jadzia confirmed, resting her forehead against the stirring wheel.

“For how long?” Julian’s voice was a high-pitched screech by now.

“Forever,” Ezri muttered, and they fell into the same uneasy silence that had been roaming about since they’d realized they were lost.

It was past eight: late enough for them to get into trouble, but too early for anyone to actually start worrying and go search for them. The thought crossed Jadzia’s mind, but she decided to try to lighten the atmosphere anyway. “We’ll just have to wait an hour or two. It won’t take too long for somebody to notice we’re gone and come looking for us.”

“Even if that happens,” Ezri said, holding her head between her palms, “they wouldn’t know where to find us.”

“Oh God,” Julian moaned.

The rain became louder and thunder rumbled above their heads. The three of them looked at each other, then out the windows. Things seemed to be every bit as hopeless as they looked. “What do we do now?” Julian asked.

“I don’t know… let me think,” Jadzia answered, closing her eyes with a frown.

The wind seemed to be clawing at the old car, and the rare streetlights shone eerily through the rain. It was more than a bit gloomy, so Julian started playing _Flappy Bird_ to avoid freaking out, and Ezri began humming to herself. The humming quickly became a song, the lyrics got clearer, and Julian started nodding his head to an imaginary beat and singing along.

“ _If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain / If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain!”_

“I am trying to think,” Jadzia complained, emphasizing each word.

They stopped singing for a moment, then a muffled laugh rose from Ezri’s seat.

“Are you laughing?” Julian scowled.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” she started, trying hard not to giggle, “the lyrics… this song, I mean, the _irony_ –”

“I’ve been obsessed with that song for weeks!” Julian laughed along.

At that moment thunder growled fiercely and a violent wind shook the car with alarming force. They looked at each other again, rather distressed.

“What are we going to do?” Julian panicked, tugging at Jadzia’s sleeve.

“I don’t know I don’t know!” she yelled, “just go back to doing whatever you were doing before and let me think this over, okay?”  

Picking up his phone again, Julian wandered aimlessly through its settings. Ezri decided against singing (or even humming) this time and instead watched the rain-drops scattering on her window.

Music sprung from Julian’s phone so unexpectedly that they all jumped.

_‘If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain –’_

“Hello?” Julian answered the call, “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Both Jadzia and Ezri stared at him hopefully.

“Can you hear me?” Julian repeated, rather desperately, “Garak? We’re stuck in the storm, in Sisko’s car, we’re out of gas,” he blurted out incoherently, “we really need your help – Garak?”

There was a pause as Julian listened intently, and the Dax sisters held their breaths. Then the young man cried out in relief. “Yes! – yes of course. No we don’t mind! Just get us out of here, please.”

He hung up and looked at his friends apologetically. “I may have accidentally set my phone to airplane mode earlier… That’s why we never got any signal.”

~

Jammed in the back of a taxi, the trio watched as the road became more and more familiar. Jadzia was already cheerfully recounting their misadventure to a highly amused Ferengi taxi driver, laughing at their stupidity. Ezri was falling asleep, her head bobbling with the car’s movements and her chin pressed against her chest.  Julian started going through his ringtones, trying to avoid Garak’s teasing glances.

“How ever did you agree to this?” the older man asked him.

“Jadzia said it would be safe,” Julian shrugged, blushing.

“And you bought it?” Garak laughed.

Julian looked away from his phone for a second. “Jadzia sold it,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Garak raised his eyebrows and nodded his understanding. “Ah, well in that case I can hardly blame you.”

_‘If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain –’_

“Is that your phone?” Garak frowned.

Ezri flung her eyes open and snatched the device away from Julian’s hands, turning it to mute. “If I hear that song one more time I’m going to go mad!”


End file.
